Gregor von Rezzori - An Ermine in Czernopol

“Light,” he mumbled. “Yes, light.”

“What?” asked Brill, half out loud. “Is he completely …” He placed his index finger on his forehead and twisted it, as if boring inside.

Wolf signaled to Brill to walk out with him.

“God is just!” said Brill. “And not a day more than seventy years old …”

At the door he turned back one more time. Did he notice the beauty of the picture before him? The lamp with its dome-shaped shade of green silk. A flood of greenish gold, set upon by the heavy umber tones of the surrounding darkness, had taken refuge in the face of the old man, who had turned toward the light, his head angled upward as if blindly sniffing out a path, the one thing he could see, the mildly painful labor of a long search for God that is never fulfilled. His prayer shawl was draped over his shoulders, white with narrow black stripes, with folds and wrinkles that called to mind Oriental grandeur and opulence, and the curls of his white beard shone with a silken splendor.

“Usher Brill!” he said, his voice sounding like a child’s, in a register from his head, and began to giggle. “The bokher !”

In the dark passageway Brill grabbed the young man by the sleeve. “As I live, I didn’t know a thing about this,” he said. “Just a few years back he was still a lively man …”

“It really is very painful,” said Wolf. “I can remember the last time I went riding with Papa for a vigorous gallop across the fields of Klokuczka …”

“Riding!” said Usher Brill, mockingly. “On the office stool, I bet!” He pulled Wolf close to him. “Now you tell me: What’s with old Paşcanu? Is he bankrupt or not?”

The eyes in front of him contained nothing but the same old melancholy. Brill was breathing heavily, almost panting.

“You are known and respected in the marketplace as a careful businessman, Herr Brill,” said Wolf von Merores after a while. “Very cautious, impressively so. You may have heard of certain government business deals. You will also have heard of some payment difficulties involving the daughter, Frau von Tildy — most unfortunate. You should not expect any personal information from me about the individual in question. After all, if I am not mistaken you know him much better than I do. In short, Herr Brill: What is it precisely that you want me to tell you?”

“Old Paşcanu is a wolf,” Brill gurgled. “A wolf is a dangerous animal.” Young Merores couldn’t help chuckling. “When it comes winter, and the wolf, he sees there’s nothing more to eat, he turns into a tiger.”

Wolfi Merores now smiled openly and full of kindness. “With this transformative illustration you’re saying that under certain circumstances Herr Paşcanu is capable of anything … Well, Herr Brill,” he shrugged his shoulders high, “I wouldn’t deny the truth of that. The daring feat, Herr Brill, the measured risk — forgive me, but in our profession, among businessmen, that seems to be the Attic salt, and one of the reasons, just en passant , why I have not already retired to the country. Perhaps a man of your age — forgive me, but you do belong to the younger members of my papa’s generation — perhaps a man of your age, in this time of tempestuous progress, which also has great impact on the financial world, really ought to leave the reins to the younger generation in order not to be overly taxed by the complexities of technical and scientific developments and so on.”

“What do you mean, tax ?” asked Brill. “What does any of this have to do with taxes, you nebbokhant ?”

“‘Taxed’ in the sense of burdened, not in the sense of levies and tariffs. What I meant to say was that you shouldn’t have to deal with the burdens of all the new technologies, that it might be better to hand the reins over …”

“You want maybe for me to hand the reins to you snotfaces!” Father Brill roared. “You little scamps? I’d sooner have a stroke right here and now …”

“That will inevitably happen soon enough if you keep getting so excited,” said Wolf von Merores, in complete command of the situation. “You will permit me to have my secretary see you out, my time is sadly limited. Pleasure to see you, Herr Brill.”

Herr von Merores himself regaled the members of the Lawn Tennis Club with the story of this visit, much to their amusement, and word soon spread across the entire city. What Herr von Merores did not relate, but what his secretary, young Seligmann, did convey a little later, was that Baronet Wolfi himself had been very distracted while looking over the mail that Seligmann had brought him in a special pouch made of calf’s leather — the Merores were proud of having remained true to the religion of their fathers and of being one of few noble families of Israelite origin in the former Imperial-Royal Monarchy, and so they also kept their leather goods kosher. At that point Wolfi had once more gone to visit his mother. Seligmann, whose secretarial duties included obtaining a signature for any document that required immediate attention, had risked the danger of provoking his employer’s displeasure and followed him. There he had overheard the old lady say the following:

“I’m telling you, the whole thing is a shameless rumor that old rogue Paşcanu leaked out so that people would think he still has some kind of deal with the government, so that under cover of that rumor he can make some lousy proposals. Why is old Brill interested in him? It’s not for any contracts with the army — please, not with the goods he carries! I can tell you what he’s after, and it’s the same thing young Brill is after, too, namely some kind of measly commission and that’s all. If I’m not mistaken, he’ll want to sell the leftover jewelry he has lying around, otherwise why would he need Perko? By the way, you could give him a nod so he would show you first — there might be something for me there. Of course only the really clear stones … Go ahead and fix him up with young Brill, so he can be a shlattenshammes for old Paşcanu just like his tateh . Something like that isn’t to be mentioned in the same breath with the likes of us, that’s child’s play. Don’t rack your brains about the other business — I’m telling you, the delegation from the army has to do with Tildy, that meshuggener , according to what Constantin Tarangolian whispered to me yesterday in confidence. Evidently, Petrescu wants to conduct a purge so to make all the officers swear allegiance to the nationalist program. But under no circumstances will Constantin allow that; he says Petrescu can twist and turn as much as he wants as far as he’s concerned, he can clean up the cavalry like the Augean stables and purge people like Turturiuk, but he can’t start anything like that, or the prefect will undermine him. So you don’t need to let yourself get mixed up in what young Brill says or break your skull over why the old man suddenly wanted to see Papa, not when I have information straight from the horse’s mouth. Because what could those two possibly have with old Paşcanu? Listen to me. Especially seeing as Perko is getting mixed up as well. If they start talking about building border fortifications, then I’ll let you know in time to send out feelers to the right people. All that’s going on now is that the nationalists want Petrescu as minister of war so they can get their clutches on the army. That’s why the whole business with Tildy is good for them, yes, but also not good for them, because it’s still too early. That’s why Constantin says he’s dead set against the whole business — because where is he going to wind up if a scandal happens here, with more minorities than natives? He’ll do what he can to see that Petrescu chokes on the whole business, and that they make the man disappear, so our prefect can go on working here in dulcie jubilo without their pestering him with things like that. So go ahead and let the Brills gather the crumbs from under old Paşcanu’s table: by our standards it can only be a bagatelle of no import whatsoever, and it’s more than likely that all anyone is going to wind up with is a crick in the neck from that old ganef of a sheepherder. With such a punim as he wears day in and day out, and nothing but debts front and back, I’m sure he can run around a long time playing the army supplier. Papa always said that the man was quick to grab the best bits of whatever deals they made together, but one day even he will have gone to the well once too often, especially if he’s already starting to dump his load of jewels on the market. So don’t work yourself up into a lather over that. Just make sure you’re on time for dinner with Lily Fokschaner, you jail-breaker, you.”